


a flash in the sky

by fypical



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Thoughts On The Fall, post-canon introspecting about pre-canon events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 21:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fypical/pseuds/fypical
Summary: Aziraphale has never mentioned it, but he remembers the Fall with a stunning sort of clarity. There are so many of them that they start to blur together--- And there is a seraph. (post-canon musings from Aziraphale, about the Fall and Crowley.)





	a flash in the sky

_would you like to_  
_meet him there, in Heaven? Imagine a room,_  
_a sudden glow._

(Richard Siken, Saying Your Names)

*

"He'd been an angel once. He hadn't meant to Fall. He'd just hung around the wrong people." 

(Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman, Good Omens) 

* * *

 

Aziraphale has never mentioned it to Crowley, but he remembers the Fall with a stunning sort of clarity.

It’s not something one tends to forget, the image of innumerable angels plummeting downward, screaming and cursing and railing against the Almighty; the legions of those of them who had made it through, kept their heads down and avoided the wrong people, crowded around in a hush. A lesson, is what Aziraphale supposes it had been. That’s how it had worked out for the most part, anyway; Michael had become even more of a stickler for rules* and things had become rather a great deal more tense ‘round the place. Until Eden, at least, when things had changed quite a bit indeed.

Most of them had been angels that Aziraphale had never met, or had only crossed once or twice in passing, heard about through the rumour mill.** The two who’d been tested against humanity, pre-emptively, and had failed. Azazel, with Raphael chasing them out so fast it nearly happened that they both went down. But most of them, Aziraphale had never encountered; there were only so many people a Principality could meet, after all, and he’d done a very good job of avoiding the wrong people when things had started looking like they might go topsy-turvy. It’s rather a lot of the ones who would have to find themselves on Earth, eventually, rather a lot who found themselves questioning why the Almighty never spoke to _them_ , who were easy targets for the Adversary. ( Aziraphale supposes this, quietly, but it’s Gabriel who says it outright - as if they’d brought it on themselves for questioning their place in Heaven. )

There are so many of them that they start to blur together, become one mass of hatred and fear and rage---

And there is a seraph.

 _That_ goes a little differently. Aziraphale had never met any of the seraphim, not formally, only seen them surrounding the Almighty as She made Her proclamations, hidden by their own wings and praising Her name, so bright they seemed aflame.

Well, this one’s aflame, alright.

Not cursing the Lord, though, not promising retribution and threatening to drag the rest of the Host down with them, not like anyone else---

_WHATEVER I DID, I’M SORRY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT, I ONLY WANTED TO KNOW--- FORGIVE ME, PLEASE, I DIDN’T THINK---_

The screaming is something awful, and Aziraphale feels ill - a relatively new sensation, all things considered. Simultaneous to the Fall, he thinks, vaguely. He does something akin to what will become covering one’s mouth with one’s hand in horror, and he is not the only one.

It does not stop, seems to drag on longer than anyone else’s, and Aziraphale feels transfixed, feels terrified, feels---

If he felt sympathy, he might join all the rest of them. He puts a stop to it, closes the door on his compassion. There’s a time and a place, he reminds himself, and if they are Falling, they must have done something to lead to that.

( The hush seems to ring louder, afterwards. As if the seraph had taken all the air out of the room with them when they’d gone. )

It’s hardly any time at all, then, until it’s over and Heaven’s purge is over. _THAT’S THAT, THEN_ , says Gabriel, his booming voice masking the shakiness Aziraphale can see in his many eyes from how close they’re standing together. Aziraphale supposes Gabriel must be right, all things considered, given that Gabriel is _Gabriel_ , loud and certain and---

Well, he’s never seemed particularly like the type of angel to dwell on the past.*** Aziraphale squares an approximation of shoulders, and decides that it cannot be worth that kind of thing to explore the kinds of curiosities he might have. God must have a plan for them all, angels and Fallen alike, and simply has chosen not to share it with them. Ineffable, then. Aziraphale can live with that; theirs is not to question why, evidently.

Later****, Aziraphale hears directly from the Lord for the first time.

 _AZIRAPHALE,_ She says, ringing throughout him and whiting out any other thoughts he may have had. _YOU WILL GUARD THE EASTERN GATE OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN, AND PROTECT THE HUMANS AND CREATURES THEREIN_.

Well, Aziraphale had thought once he could think again, that seems perfectly alright. And so it had been, made flesh and sent down with a flaming sword to make sure that Adam & Eve avoided the inappropriate trees and remained un-eaten by the more dangerous elements in the Garden. Idyllic, really; perhaps a little boring, but undoubtedly important. And Aziraphale has no real desire to question the will of the Creator.

Eve eats the apple. Adam eats the apple. Aziraphale can’t keep from giving them the sword, after having watched them scramble for something to cover themselves, watching them come face to face with the truth of Good and Evil. There is no screaming, but--- there might as well have been.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” he hears next.

( Crowley’s never brought it up either. Aziraphale quite suspects that he hadn’t been in a position to observe the crowd at the time. In any case--- they are who they are, now. That’s been the point Crowley has been trying to make to him for years. Crowley, who Aziraphale currently finds curled asleep in the middle of the bed they share in the cottage they’ve gotten themselves on the coastline, a kind of peace written across his brow that Aziraphale's rarely seen until recently.

Forgiveness takes many forms, he supposes. ) 

* * *

 

*Aziraphale had, of course, not known that Michael was in nearly as regular communication with Hell’s agents as he would come to be - though not nearly as friendly communication.

**Heaven’s rumour mill is unparalleled by any - and by and large inaccurate, nowadays.

***Except, as it turns out, for a lingering nostalgia about a musical film from 1965. Everyone gets there eventually.

****How much later remains unclear, as Time had not yet quite been nailed down; general accounts offer suggestions ranging from a week to three billion years.

**Author's Note:**

> Good Omens the tv show really did catapult me back into this fandom, huh. 
> 
> The implication is, of course, that Crowley is the seraph in question. Title comes from the Richard Siken poem I use for titles for all my Good Omens fic. I wrote this in a haze at 4:30am on a Thursday in June, so my apologies for whatever errors might be present.


End file.
